


Sacrificial Lamb

by RurouniHime



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Community: kinkme_merlin, Episode Related, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Misunderstanding, Pining, Post Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's been overworking his knights, so they come to Merlin as a last resort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrificial Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: some for episode 1x13. This fic takes place right after.  
> Warnings: the whole premise is a little cracky, but beyond that, nothing.
> 
> Written for this prompt at kinkme_merlin: http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/4920.html?thread=1849912#t1849912

“You do understand it’s a delicate matter.” Sir Lucan’s eyes were exhausted but wide, his eyebrows tilted in such a way that his face looked vaguely sorrowful. “Don’t you, Merlin?”

Merlin just stared at him. Sir Leon sighed, nudged Lucan back, and stepped into his place. His expression was soft, calm.

“Merlin, I feel you are the only one we can turn to,” Leon began. “If any one of us was able to properly handle the issue, we wouldn’t dream of imposing. But the entire _lot_ of us can’t make any headway, and…” He lifted his shoulders helplessly.

Merlin stared some more. “I don’t think I heard you right. What exactly is it you want me to do again?”

Sir Perrin let out an exasperated breath where he had draped himself over his shield. “We want you to shag the prince until he’s too worn out to lift his sword, literally or figuratively!”

Sir Leon looked absolutely scandalized. He cuffed Perrin hard across the back of his head. “How dare you speak so brazenly about the prince? Keep a civil tongue!”

Perrin bowed his head, looking mutinous, and Merlin slumped in relief. “For a second there, I thought you were serious.”

Absolute silence.

Merlin felt his mouth drop open. “You… _are_ serious.”

Leon’s eyes darted. “Well… not necessarily about Perrin’s exact choice of words, but, yes. So to speak.”

Lucan looked beseechingly at Merlin. “We figured, what with your current standing with the prince... I mean, you already see to his needs anyway.”

Merlin didn’t get it for a couple seconds, and then he _did_ , and stumbled back. “Wait, I think there’s been some kind of— misinterpretation—”

Leon clapped him on the shoulder. “Quite right, Merlin, discretion’s the word. Don’t worry, we’re in this together. We’ll even keep the king occupied. I’m certain that one of us is not too weary to busy His Majesty with the current affairs of our outer wheat suppliers.” He looked around at his men. “Right. Volunteers?”

Behind him, Sirs Eoin, Galahad, and Horace passed out with a mighty clatter of armor and falling swords. Lucan staggered to Galahad’s side and slapped at his face. Galahad began to snore. Lucan made to rise but just ended up falling down again near Galahad’s feet. “Um,” he offered.

Leon looked at the knights who were still standing. “Elyan? Anselm? Kai, surely you—”

Kai’s eyes took on a hunted look. “It seems I should… My steward is very… All right?” He turned and hastened off the field without another word.

Anselm dropped his mace on his own toe and began to curse. Leon heaved another sigh. He turned and squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “Suppose it’s me, then. For king and country, eh, Merlin?”

Merlin stared. Again.

Leon smiled encouragingly. “Do us proud.”

**

Merlin took his sweet time getting up to Arthur’s chambers, which was most likely going to earn him a scrubbing of the hearth with nothing but a bathing cloth, or a series of filthy stables to muck out using only a spoon, but he just couldn’t make himself move faster. He was having enough trouble coming to terms with the fact that he hadn’t misunderstood the knights at all.

Shag Arthur? Over and over until he couldn’t even raise his eyebrows, let alone his sword?

It didn’t matter that Merlin had been looking for a reason to jump into Arthur’s breeches for nearly two months now. He hadn’t fully realized how much Arthur’s near death right there in front of him would affect him. Yes, willing to give his life and all that, that was certainly massive, but afterward, once he had a chance to stand still and sit down and think… Merlin had a hard time catching his breath, reminding himself again and again that Arthur was not dead at all, he was alive, he was still breathing and walking and smirking all over the place, and he wasn’t cold in the ground, he was _alive_. He was warm and vibrant and… and Merlin couldn’t see a way in which he could do without Arthur in his life anymore.

So he might have been just a little in love with Arthur, and more than a little willing to get naked for Arthur’s pleasure. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Arthur hadn’t shown a lick of interest in that particular notion, and sure, Arthur had been caught up in the whole healing process for most of those two months, but even Merlin knew when to jump forward and when to inch forward. He didn’t even know how the knights had got the impression that he’d insinuated himself into Arthur’s bed or into his heart or between Arthur’s legs— oh god, between Arthur’s legs—

“Not the time, not the time,” Merlin muttered, tromping up the stairs as slowly as he could. He smacked himself on the sides of his head with both fists, and if it didn’t banish the images he’d just conjured up, then at least it made him too dizzy to make heads or tails of them. It also helped in that it kept him from continuing up the stairs for a bit while he waited for the stairwell to stop wobbling.

 _Overcompensating again, Merlin,_ he could hear Arthur saying, sometime last week when he’d been on his bum in the grass, peering up at Arthur through the gap in his visor. Arthur had twirled his sword around, then demonstrated the move Merlin had just completely botched. _You don’t want to lose your footing and therefore your advantage. Like this, come on, on your feet. Again._

Because… and that was the trouble: Merlin knew what the knights felt like. For nearly a week, it had been him at the other end of Arthur’s blade, weighted down in metal and stumbling over his paces as Arthur attempted to get him up to fighting speed. In the end, he turned out to be quite useless at burning up Arthur’s excess energy— Merlin could have told him that before all the bruises had been inflicted— and Arthur had let him off the hook and gone in search of his more able-bodied, well-trained knights.

Alas.

Merlin pushed off the wall, took a deep breath, and headed up the stairs again. He couldn’t avoid Arthur forever, and if he did, then tomorrow would roll around, Arthur would march out onto the practice field, and Sir Leon and all the others would know that Merlin hadn’t made every effort to stop such a catastrophe from occurring. Merlin didn’t like the thought of armed, capable men feeling irritated at him, but even more, he didn’t like the thought of Leon’s betrayed eyes as he inevitably resigned himself to being smacked around by a jubilant prince for the next four days.

It wasn’t the knights’ fault that they didn’t know Merlin had not, in fact, extended his repertoire of manservantly duties.

It was right there at the top of the stairs that Merlin stopped and nearly fell sideways into the wall. Of course, why hadn’t he thought of that first? Well, naturally because he’d been distracted with the notion of shagging Arthur beyond rotten more times than he could conceivably count. He’d been so blinkered he hadn’t been able to see the obvious.

There was, as the saying went, more than one way to skin a cat.

**

When Merlin opened the door, Arthur was in mid-parry, wheeling and slicing across the floor in the sunlight, thrusting forward and drawing back in perfect form, and when he did it alone, Merlin always thought it looked like some mythic, ethereal dance. His feet were bare, tendons tightening with each step, and his shirt billowed as he turned. Arthur still had on the leather gauntlets that kept his wrists from chafing under his armor. The focus in his eyes could have stopped an advancing army.

Merlin might have paused in the doorway and enjoyed himself. A little.

Arthur ducked an imaginary blow, turned on the ball of his foot, and swung. His sword veritably whistled, and Merlin could almost see the foe that the blow was meant to cleave. Right in the side, in the weak joining of mail beneath the arm. Arthur arrested the swing with his sword pointing straight out in front of him, and held for a moment in the afternoon light. He slowly rose out of his lunge, flipped the sword point down, and turned a dazzling smile on Merlin.

“You’ve certainly been awhile.”

Merlin tried to defend himself, but Arthur made it unnecessary. “Come _on_ , Merlin, my chambers aren’t on view to the entire castle.”

Merlin came fully inside, shutting the door behind him. Arthur padded over to the table and threw himself down in his chair. Merlin’s heart leapt until Arthur picked up his polishing cloth and began rubbing more vigorously than necessary at his sword blade, all the while tapping his foot on the floor stones. God. Arthur couldn’t even sit down without doing _something_. Where had the lazy, conceited, arrogant prince who had no problem ordering someone else to blink his eyes for him disappeared to?

“Arthur,” Merlin blurted, “wouldn’t you rather I did that?”

Arthur looked at Merlin, then down at his sword. He shrugged and tossed the cloth to Merlin. “If you’re so keen on it.”

He really wasn’t keen on it, but it was better than Arthur building the tension in Merlin’s shoulders, brick by brick. Arthur, for his part, did not stay seated. He got up. Stretched. Put on his boots. Stretched again, complete with arching back and bared sliver of stomach that made Merlin’s own stomach hurt because… well, because. The knights wanted him to… And he wanted to… And he didn’t want to… And Arthur was…

Arthur was leaving the room.

“Sire.” Merlin shot away from the table, dropping the polishing cloth on the floor. His head swam for a second. Arthur paused, halfway out the door.

“What, Merlin?”

“That is…” Merlin cast about and noted the sweat still lingering in the hollow of Arthur’s throat. “You should be more appropriately dressed. It’s chilly. Outside. And you’ve been exercising.”

Arthur considered, then came back into the room. He lifted his arms and raised an eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin got him into a fresh tunic as slowly as he could manage, spending so long rummaging in Arthur’s wardrobe that Arthur threatened him with the stocks, and then ‘accidentally’ pulling the tunic over Arthur’s head backwards, which led to a lot of grimacing and fumbling around. Most fortuitously, it led to a rip in the hem, and Arthur demanded another shirt.

“My god, Merlin,” Arthur reminisced as Merlin adjusted and straightened and brushed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such an invigorating session as I did today. Though the men were a bit sluggish. I suppose it’s the cold, but that’s no excuse. I’ll have to get them out there early tomorrow morning. They could use a little toughening up.”

“Sire,” Merlin said, “hadn’t you better take it easy? Your shoulder, I mean.”

“Nonsense, Merlin, I feel fantastic.” Arthur grinned. He walked to the table, picked up his sword, whirled it once, and sheathed it. He tossed the sword and sheathe across the room to Merlin. “You can set it in the corner there. No sense in taking it all the way down to the armory just to bring it right back up.”

Merlin swallowed. “You… have plans for more swordwork? Today?”

Arthur snorted. “No, I think there’s been more than enough of that.”

Merlin’s smile was just becoming genuine when Arthur picked up his jacket and pulled it on. “No, I’m drilling the knights on staffs before dinner.”

Merlin hurried to Arthur’s side and took over adjusting the fit and lay of his jacket, smoothing the sleeves, turning the collar just right, tightening the laces on his wrists. Anything to keep Arthur in one place so he could _think_. “Don’t you, erm, don’t you think it’s a little late? We’ll never have time to get you ready for your meal with your father.”

Arthur looked at him as if a third eye had sprouted in the middle of his forehead and begun singing in a screechy voice. “It’s two hours until we eat, Merlin.”

“Yes, and I’ll need to ready your bath and lay out your clothing and…” Merlin glanced down. “And polish your boots.”

Arthur leaned in so close that Merlin jerked back. His eyes darted suspiciously over Merlin’s face. “Yes, have you… bumped your head or something similar?”

“Just turning over a new leaf,” Merlin managed, slightly woozy. Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and made for the door. Merlin scrambled after him. His head was aching where he’d smacked himself earlier, but he couldn’t afford to lose Arthur to the castle’s many hallways and staircases. He followed Arthur down the first set of stairs at a brisk trot.

Which gave him an idea. “Arthur— Sire, I mean.”

Arthur sent him a humourless glare.

“Your horse!” Merlin nearly shouted. “She. Sir Kai was preparing to ride and he thought Amartia was favoring her foreleg.”

Arthur did stop this time. “Is she all right?” he demanded tensely.

“Yes! Yes, she’s fine.” Drat. Merlin hadn’t meant to scare Arthur. “The groom checked her over. And. She’s not limping,” he finished lamely.

After a beat, Arthur nodded. And continued down the stairs. “Good. I’ll go see her after drills.”

“I…” God, what else, what else? Merlin considered himself to be a creative person. His mind was just too blank for this. He quickened his pace, skipping a step and landing almost wrong enough to turn his ankle, and then thought, why not?

“Ow!” Merlin dropped onto his knee on the step and nearly lost his balance anyway. He grabbed the inner wall for support, and then Arthur’s steps sounded, coming quickly back up.

“Merlin?” Arthur crouched down, brow furrowed. Merlin clutched at his left ankle, trying not to topple onto Arthur and send them both down the stairs for real.

“Think I turned my ankle,” he gritted out. Arthur’s hands immediately closed around the limb in question, touching gently, and Merlin almost forgot to make the appropriate painful noises. When he did manage one or two, Arthur looked up at him and nodded.

“Taking you to Gaius myself. Can’t have you cart-wheeling all the way down the stairs.”

Merlin shook his head, which made it swim, so he stopped. “No, it’s all right, it’s fine,” and then he backtracked because here was his opportunity, at least for the next twenty minutes or thereabouts. “Yes, yes, take me to Gaius, it’s really bad.”

Arthur looked at him oddly, then leaned forward to pull Merlin’s arm about his shoulders.

But now Merlin’s head really _was_ swimming, even pounding a little bit, stuffy and tilted, and Arthur’s eyes went wide, and Merlin blacked out.

**

Someone slapped his face. Not very hard, granted, but coming out of unconsciousness had a way of multiplying everything tenfold.

“Ow…”

“Merlin! Merlin?” Gaius was the one hitting him, then. “You say he just… fainted?”

Arthur answered, sounding a little uneasy. “Not fainted, per se. You see, he’d fallen. On the stairs. Hurt his ankle and maybe the pain… Look, I don’t know! He didn’t hit his head, I’m sure of that.”

“That’s lucky.” Gaius touched Merlin’s brow so tenderly that Merlin thought it might be all right to open his eyes. Gaius gazed down at him, a troubled line between his brows. “Merlin. Are you ill?”

“I’m, no.” Merlin craned his head and located Arthur. He was much closer than expected, leaning against Gaius’ worktable with his arms crossed over his chest. When Merlin caught his eye, Arthur launched himself away from the table and moved to his bedside.

“Merlin! Have you been eating?”

“Yes,” Merlin gasped, startled at the attack. Arthur grabbed his wrist up and encircled it with his fingers. Merlin pulled, Arthur pulled, and naturally, Merlin lost.

“Look, he’s not eating properly, Gaius, as I’d feared. Merlin, even an ignoramus knows that it takes energy to run up and down stairs, and that food is the source of that energy!”

Gaius pried Arthur’s fingers from Merlin’s wrist. “I assure you, Sire, he has been eating. Rather similarly to a starving dragon, actually. Merlin, what happened?”

“I…” Nothing else for it, and Merlin’s head was still a little wishy-washy anyway. “I may have bumped my head. Earlier this morning.”

Arthur’s expression turned appalled. He laid a hand atop Merlin’s head and began to knead his fingers through his hair. Merlin batted at him until Gaius rescued his head as well. “Sire, there is nothing the matter with his skull.”

Then Gaius pried Merlin’s eyelids open as wide as he could and Merlin began to wish for Arthur’s frantic pawing instead. Arthur bent over Gaius’ shoulder, frowning.

“I’m fine!” Merlin cried. He sat up and thankfully, his head did not seem all that indignant about the movement. “I just… I was dizzy.”

“How many fingers do you see?” Gaius asked. Merlin answered dutifully, and correctly, it seemed, because after a few more questions involving numbers and a candle held uncomfortably close to each eye, Gaius let him lie back down.

“He should rest. I’m not entirely certain that he is well, but there is no indication of a serious threat. No sign of brain damage.”

“Beyond the usual, that is.” Arthur sighed and straightened his tunic. “All right. I leave him in your capable hands, Gaius. I’ve training to see to before the evening meal. Thank you for your help, as always.”

He made for the doorway and Merlin scrambled off the bed onto wobbly legs. “I’ll come with you.”

Arthur and Gaius turned slowly to look at him. “Merlin,” Gaius cautioned, “you really should remain here until I can be certain—”

“I’m fine, really.” Merlin scruffed a hand through his hair and grinned as sheepishly as he knew how. “Just overexerting myself. See what happens when you overexert yourself, Arthur?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He looked to Gaius, and Merlin spun around to head off the next volley.

“Really, Gaius, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Arthur needs my help. With his horse.”

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it. Sighed. Gaius watched Merlin warily.

“All right,” he said at last to Arthur. “But if he shows any signs at all—”

“I’ll lug him straight back here.” Arthur inclined his head in promise, then sighed again and gestured to Merlin. “Come on, then. And don’t _overexert_ yourself getting to the stables.”

**

They spent so long checking Amartia’s legs, shoes, and muscles that night fell. The castle was lit up with golden torchlight. It spilled through the open door of the stables, glowing off of Arthur’s hair. Amartia gave Arthur one last snort as he placed her foreleg carefully back down, and turned dismissively to her bag of oats.

“Wait, I think her back leg looks a touch swollen, there, by the hoof,” Merlin said, pointing.

Arthur glared. “ _Merlin_. For the last time, there is no swelling!”

“I could have sworn I saw—”

Arthur cut him off with a wave. “Whatever. I’ll walk her again tomorrow, just to make sure. But now, I’m starving and you’re starving, and _don’t argue_.” He shoved past Merlin, heading for the castle. Merlin jogged behind, his mind whirling.

Over dinner, Merlin tried being extra attentive to Arthur’s goblet in the hopes that a drunk prince was a late-sleeping prince. But Arthur barely touched his wine, too entertained with his own newfound energy. The knights at the far end of the table— Sirs Leon and Eoin— were looking a little pale as they picked at their food and watched their commander animatedly describe his plans for jousting drills and archery on horseback. Even Morgana looked a little windblown after Arthur finished his monologue, but Uther was delighted. Merlin could see the shine in the king’s eyes, and knew it could only be that of a father whose child has pulled back from a brink that utterly terrified him. Not only that, but Uther was well aware of his son’s new lust for life, his grasp on it, and Merlin almost scrapped the plan to wear Arthur down because it was nice seeing father and son interact in such a warm, wonderful way.

Whether Arthur knew it or not (and Merlin was pretty sure it was the latter), his constant chattering to his father and sister-by-wardship gave Merlin time to come up with several methods of occupying Arthur for the rest of the evening. Because, even though it was late, it wasn’t terribly cold, and who knew what reasons Arthur might utilise to get his knights suited up and onto the practice fields? Merlin had long since learned never to underestimate the prince, and considering the speed with which Arthur did everything lately, he’d whip through Merlin’s plans at a phenomenal rate, like he was checking off a Camelot census.

Arthur kept talking after Morgana excused herself and took a very sleepy-looking Gwen back to her chambers. Merlin had never seen Uther so content. He quizzed his son on every point of archery and swordsmanship, and Arthur answered, his responses alert and succinct, full of the honest tone of love for his duties that Merlin had missed hearing ever since the Questing Beast. Even Sir Leon was smiling by the time the meal was called to a close, gazing fondly at his commander. It was a devotion Merlin had only seen cultivated by Arthur Pendragon, and it was not a tool or a weapon, but a genuine desire to like and be liked.

Merlin knew better: Arthur was _loved_.

Still, Merlin thought, hurrying to keep up with Arthur’s brisk strides away from the main hall, a loved prat was still a prat, and if he was correct in his assumption, then Arthur was going for looser clothing, better shoes, and eventually, to rouse his poor, unsuspecting knights.

Merlin had taken care to remove Arthur’s armor to Gaius’ rooms, which would act as a last resort while he took his time getting them. Regretfully, the bath had been completed for the day, but Arthur had no idea of the mess Merlin had left behind in his chambers, the cleanup of which he would demand to oversee if Merlin could get him riled enough. Or worried enough about the survival of his belongings.

As he’d predicted, Arthur stopped short just inside his room, gaped at the mess, and promptly put the training preparation on hold in favor of some choice words and wild stabbing about with a royal finger. Merlin took care to drop things in inconvenient places and use the wrong implements to clean fragile items, so much so that Arthur finally threw his training tunic aside in exasperation and slumped into his chair to delegate.

“Merlin, has my surcoat ever gone in that side of the wardrobe? No, it hasn’t! Good lord, what has got into you tonight?”

Merlin shrugged, busy stoking the fire to within eyebrow-charring temperatures. “Just a little distracted.”

Arthur grinned at him, lounging in his chair with one leg cocked over the armrest. “By what, pray tell?”

Merlin felt uneasy for all of three seconds while he dug up an answer. “Oh, my… episode. On the stairs today.”

Arthur snorted, straightening a little. “Yes, the episode.” He smiled, then frowned and got up, kicking off the boots he’d changed into for training. Merlin felt a rush of relief and concentrated on the fire again. He didn’t hear Arthur’s approach until his bare feet wandered into view. Merlin looked up, startled.

Arthur knelt down, gazing at him searchingly. “Are you feeling all right?”

Merlin’s hand stilled and the poker dropped into the flames. “I… Yeah.”

Arthur sniffed, and rubbed at something on the arch of his foot. When he looked up again, his mouth had twisted into a half-smile. “Thought you were headed all the way down to the ground floor, there.”

Merlin couldn’t think of a response, and after a moment, Arthur shoved his shoulder good-naturedly. A log cracked apart, sending a new wave of heat from the hearth, and Arthur winced, toppling back and bracing himself with one hand. “Merlin. What on earth are you— Give me that!”

He snagged the poker from Merlin’s grip and set it well to the side of the now roaring fireplace. Then he grabbed Merlin and hauled him away from the flames. Muttering, Arthur used Merlin’s shoulder to push himself to his feet, and crossed to the window. He threw it open, then went down the line of windows, shoving them outward. The air outside was not cold, but still cooler than the furnace Merlin had created. Arthur basked in the rush for all of a second before he yanked his tunic over his head, mopped his brow with it, and tossed it as far away as he could. “Pick that up, would you?”

Merlin sauntered over to the shirt, glad to get away from the fire, but generally proud of himself. Arthur was playing right into his plan, and if he was lucky, it would be the last one necessary tonight. When he picked up the discarded tunic and turned around, however, it was to find Arthur in mid-stretch, glowing from the raging firelight all up and down his chest, over his shoulders. Merlin stared unconsciously until Arthur’s back suddenly spasmed and he dropped his arms.

“Ow.” Arthur rubbed at his bad shoulder, grimacing.

There was something he was supposed to be doing right then, Merlin thought dazedly, and then Arthur hissed and screwed up his face, and it clicked. Merlin leapt into action, heading for the chest at the side of Arthur’s bed. He retrieved the bottle Gaius had prescribed and went to Arthur’s side.

“Here.” Merlin touched Arthur’s shoulder, pulling back at the sound Arthur made. He was glad he’d not dallied, not when Arthur was truly hurting. “Need to salve your shoulder for the night.”

“Oh, honestly, Merlin, this is the first time it’s hurt in—”

“Hours,” Merlin interrupted. Arthur gave him a scathing look, then threw his hands up and made his way to his bed. He dropped gingerly onto his knees and crawled until he could lie down spread-eagle on the blankets. Merlin poured some of the salve into his hands and rubbed it warm. He was just climbing onto the bed beside Arthur when Arthur spoke.

“All right, make it quick,” he mumbled into the top-quilt. “I’d like to at least do an inventory of the tack room before I sleep, and _someone_ has been making that difficult.”

Merlin snorted. “I hardly think the tack room requires the Crown Prince’s personal attention. And I’m not ‘making it quick.’ Your shoulder hurts.”

Arthur let out an overly loud sigh. “You are such a _mother_ , Merlin. Or so I’d guess if I could remember my mother.”

He didn’t sound particularly troubled, but Merlin still paused. When he laid his hand flat on Arthur’s shoulder, though, Arthur groaned and tensed, then relaxed in one easy ripple. “Oh god… All right, don’t make it quick.”

Merlin had to catch his breath a little before focussing on the task at hand, which, he reminded himself, was not actually made up of trying to get Arthur naked. He kneaded the back of Arthur’s shoulder carefully with both hands, rubbing the salve into his skin. It tingled against the pads of his fingers, already numbing. Merlin could only imagine what it felt like to Arthur’s overheated skin.

Merlin frowned and looked closer. “It’s inflamed.”

“Nonsense,” Arthur grumbled.

“No, I really…” Merlin sighed. “Wish I was lying.” Arthur’s shoulder wasn’t bad, but it did look redder than the rest of his skin, although the swelling could well be a trick of the light. “Turn over.”

Arthur did as he was bade, rolling onto his back and looking mutely up at Merlin, his blond head cradled in the rich burgundy of the bed covers. Merlin cleared his throat and went for more salve, realising belatedly that he’d have to lean over Arthur’s chest to get at his shoulder now. He warmed the salve between his palms again and set to work on the puckered trio of scars that marred Arthur’s skin. Arthur’s eyes drifted shut, and Merlin saw his chest rise on a deep inhalation.

“Shouldn’t be training so hard,” Merlin murmured, not sure if he was really speaking the words aloud.

Apparently he was, because Arthur snorted. “Thank you, Merlin, I have been so advised.”

“I’m serious. You’re going to injure the muscle all over again.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed, and cracked an eyelid. “It’s been two and a half months. I’m fine.”

Merlin locked his gaze, then shrugged to hide the shiver skating up his back. “If I were your physician—”

“Then I’d be strapped to the bed and dosed until all I can see is unicorns, I know, I know.” Arthur smirked at him and rolled over again. Merlin went back to work on the expanse between Arthur’s shoulders, rubbing at the deeper muscles and feeling them loosen. Trying not to actually picture Arthur tied to any sort of bed, let alone the one they were both currently on. Arthur groaned into his pillow, until the sound was swallowed in a yawn.

Arthur’s skin felt soft and hot under Merlin’s hands as he stroked the salve over it. Arthur’s whole body rolled slowly with the pressure of Merlin’s massage, and Merlin was no longer sure if the tingling in his fingers had all to do with the concoction’s numbing agent. The heat of the room was heavy as a mantle. The loose, sated weight of Arthur’s body under his hands was enthralling, and Merlin felt more than a little awed at the trust implied.

“Mm… Get my other shoulder?” Arthur murmured, sounding only half awake. Merlin hesitated, then straightened and repositioned himself, pressing one leg against Arthur’s side to steady his reach. Arthur let out a lengthy sound of contentment as Merlin rubbed deeply into the muscle. Heat beat from his side in waves.

“The swords are,” Arthur mumbled. “Merlin.”

Merlin leaned down. “What?”

Only Arthur’s steady breathing answered. Merlin remained bent over Arthur awhile, listening to the gentle inhale-exhale, and then remembered himself and blinked. The fire was still crackling, but lower than it had been. Merlin wondered how long he’d forgotten himself there on the bed.

At long last, he made himself get off of it, capped the bottle, and replaced it in Arthur’s bedside chest. Arthur’s face was turned toward him, eyes and mouth closed. His hair had slipped over his eyes. Merlin brushed it away and watched it slink languidly back.

He banked the fire and then pulled a quilt over Arthur’s slumbering form. Thought about taking it off again and getting Arthur out of his trousers, but put that idea aside quickly. No, Arthur was comfortable enough, Merlin hedged, nodding as he gathered blankets on the floor between the prince and the door. He’d sleep here tonight, and be up before Arthur could stride off down to the practice fields for a little light bludgeoning of his knights. And when he woke up, there were clothes to choose and breakfast to retrieve.

After that… Well, he’d think of something.

**

“Merlin.” Something prodded him in the arm. “Merlin.”

Merlin groaned and rolled away from the light and the bother and the noise. Something jabbed him in the arm again, and went so far as to shake his shoulder.

“Mer _lin_.”

“Whuh,” Merlin said, impressing himself: it was abnormal to be awake, after all.

A chuckle. “You don’t say? Come on. Time to get up.”

“Not time,” Merlin grumbled. He waved his hand about and collided with someone else’s hand, which subsequently grabbed his and continued the waving of Merlin’s whole arm in a highly exaggerated fashion.

“Up. We’ve lost the morning already.”

Merlin opened his eyes as quickly as he was able, which wasn’t quickly at all, and found a hazy Arthur peering down at him. He blinked several times, and Arthur’s mouth curved.

“Come on, lazy.” Arthur ruffled his hair. “Time to greet the day.”

Merlin sat up gingerly, squinting. The drapes had been pulled back, and his back ached from lying on the floor, even if he was on a pile of blankets. Arthur rose from his crouch and Merlin stared dully up at him. “Time is it?”

“Time for you to get out of your rat’s nest and get to work,” Arthur offered cheerfully. “Come on, I’ve had extra brought up for breakfast, but you’ll have to eat quickly.”

“I’m…” Merlin shook his head. Arthur’s boots were still in his line of sight, and Merlin contemplated them, trying to get his head to un-fog. Arthur’s boots.

Arthur’s _training_ boots.

Merlin jerked his eyes up and found Arthur’s training breeches and training tunic as well, the latter right beneath the smirk gracing Arthur’s face. Merlin scrambled free of the blankets, flailing, barely catching himself as he fell, and finally staggering upright. “You’re dressed!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Indeed.” He turned on one heel and headed for the table. Merlin followed him and discovered more horrors.

“But I’m supposed to get breakfast!”

“Finally, you are exhibiting awareness of the outside world! Will wonders never cease?” Arthur made a condescending face at him and poured out a cup of water. He placed several items of food onto a plate and set everything before his chair. Merlin expected him to sit, but Arthur just stood there, staring at him.

“Well? Come on, Merlin, I’ve things that need doing!”

Merlin stared back, and finally Arthur stalked around behind him, grabbed his shoulders, and marched him right back over to the table. He pushed Merlin down in the chair and tossed a napkin into his lap. “Eat. And hurry up.”

Merlin stared at his plate. Meat and bread, and cherries. He hated cherries.

“First, you’ll have to clean up your ‘bed,’ of course. I notice you haven’t picked up the laundry from yesterday, so you’ll be doing that as well, and making _my_ bed, then taking everything down to be washed. After that, you can join me out on the field, I’ll need you to supply me with weapons—”

“No, no, you can’t train,” Merlin interrupted, and Arthur stilled next to his bed, sword belt halfway buckled.

“Can’t I?” Arthur’s tone was dry.

“No. Obviously there’s… to be done. And. And I’ve been meaning to… And you…”

Arthur looked at him like he was a lunatic. Which, Merlin supposed, wasn’t all that far off, considering what was coming out of his mouth.

“Yes, well, while I’m doing all those terribly important and memorable things,” Arthur enunciated, “perhaps you could finish eating so we can get out of here.”

Merlin jumped to his feet, pushing the chair back and knocking over his cup of water. He dashed to get between Arthur and the door.

“ _Mer_ lin—”

He didn’t know how in the world the morning had got away from him like this. Arthur had been up and dressed, and obviously _out of his room_ procuring another servant to bring food from the kitchens, all before Merlin even batted an eyelash! Everything was spiraling completely out of his control, and all he could think was that Arthur had to _stay in his chambers_ or he, Merlin, would meet his grisly end at the pointy sword-tips of vengeful knights.

A little melodramatic, but Merlin wasn’t bothering with that at the moment.

He skidded to a stop in front of an incredulous Arthur, wracking his brains for something, anything. Not food. Not clothing. Oh lord, not even boots. Arthur had the key to his chambers on his belt, so Merlin couldn’t lock them inside, and Arthur’s vest was already on, his face already washed, his gloves already in his hands, there was his sword over by the bed, but then Merlin would have to move and leave the way to the door clear, and—

Arthur stared at him, wide-eyed. “What on earth is the matter with you, Merlin? This is odd behavior, even for you.” He gestured toward the table and stepped away from the bed. “Finish eating, and come down as soon as you’re done with the room. I’ve got to rouse the knights.”

“You can’t,” Merlin said, and Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, they aren’t ready. They need their sleep, and it can’t be later than…” He frantically sought out the window. Arthur made to move around him.

“They’re used to getting up early.”

Merlin backed up, getting directly in front of Arthur again. Arthur moved to his left, so Merlin moved to his right.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur grated.

Merlin was out of ideas and any second now, Arthur was going to get around him and down the stairs and all his efforts would be for naught. So Merlin did the only thing he hadn’t tried yet— the original option— and lunged forward to kiss Arthur.

Arthur froze, letting out a surprised sound that broke across Merlin’s mouth. In a split second, Arthur’s hands had clamped down on Merlin’s forearms, and Merlin was very glad of it when it became clear that he was tipping them sideways. Arthur’s wide eyes stared into his, and Merlin decided this was the moment to forward the cause, to push Arthur flat on his back on the bed and have his wicked way with him.

Only he didn’t get that far. He was… rather stuck on the kiss. Arthur’s mouth had opened a bit, a result of shock, and the sudden pulse of warm breath against his lips made Merlin’s mind swim, because it was Arthur’s warm breath, he was kissing Arthur, oh lord, Arthur was not exactly kissing him back, and Merlin pressed forward before thinking, far more attentive to the abrupt ache in his belly.

Arthur gave a little under the pressure, slumping against the bedpost, hands still gripping Merlin’s arms. Merlin licked into his mouth, muffling a desperate whimper at the taste, at the fact that he was actually this close, the fact that Arthur tasted like the cherries from breakfast, the fact that Merlin actually _liked_ the taste of cherries all of a sudden, as long as it came from Arthur’s lips. He tilted his head, trying to taste more, and suddenly Arthur’s hands were tight on his face, forcing him back.

Their breaths skated between them in harsh huffs. Arthur’s eyes darted. Blinked. Merlin licked his lips, made a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a mewling cat, and Arthur’s eyes went extremely dark extremely fast. And then he yanked Merlin in and kissed him, messy and graceless, pulling them both back so hard that the bed wobbled when they banged into the post.

Merlin was in Arthur’s lap. In his bloody _lap_. Straddling Arthur, wrapped in Arthur’s arms, with his groin in incredibly close proximity to Arthur’s, and it felt delicious. Oh god, why hadn’t he just done this in the first place? Arthur’s mouth was a slick fervor of momentum against his lips, the vest he wore soft and pliant under Merlin’s fingers, the sweep of Arthur’s throat just as silky as Merlin had always suspected, the muscles of his chest and shoulders tensing in ways Merlin could never have imagined— Why had he even fought against this option? It was the one he wanted, and clearly Arthur was willing, and it had been on the table the whole time, right from the moment when Sir Leon and the others—

Asked him to shag the daylights out of their commander.

Merlin froze and opened his eyes. Oh lord, what was he _thinking?_ This was why he’d pushed the option away in the first place, and he’d never shagged the daylights out of anything before, least of all the man he was practically in love with, who probably had far more experience with these things than Merlin ever would, and it was detestable, having sex with Arthur to fulfill some sort of request from his knights! Merlin’s stomach lurched into nausea. He felt so… so guilty.

“Can’t do this!” he gasped, half into Arthur’s mouth as he jerked back. Arthur’s hand tugged painfully where his fingers were still woven into Merlin’s hair. Merlin grabbed Arthur’s wrist and worked himself free, then stumbled off Arthur’s lap as fast as he could get his legs to obey him. He just about fell, but righted himself in a supreme display of grace borrowed from somewhere. “I can’t… do this!”

“Think you were doing just fine,” Arthur breathed. He swayed where he sat on the bed, looking completely bowled over with reddened lips and mussed hair. He looked achingly flushed, painfully desirable; Merlin put another step’s distance between them, just in case. Arthur gave his head a shake. “Merlin?”

“No, no,” Merlin babbled, knowing that he needed a distraction from the distraction now, and my, weren’t things getting complicated? But talking had never failed him, so he kept doing it. “I can’t. It’s not right, like this, and you’re much too surprised, I can see it. Mistake. It was a mistake, Arthur, I swear, I never agreed.”

Arthur peered at him as if he were shining too brightly and the glare hurt his eyes. “I… what?”

“With Leon, Sir Leon, I mean, I never agreed, even though they asked me to, but you’re impossible to keep in one place, do you know that? And I tried everything I could think of, I ripped your shirt and slept in your room and fell down the stairs, I even lied about your horse, but I can’t do this! I can’t just _kiss_ you like this to keep you away from the knights, it’s not right!”

Arthur’s eyes locked on him. “You… did this to keep me away from the knights.”

“No, don’t you see, I can’t do that! It’s wrong!”

Arthur’s mouth thinned. “You did this because the knights asked you to.”

“No! Yes! I did everything but what they actually asked me to do until just now, but you are impossible, I can’t keep up with you!” Merlin tore at his hair with both hands.

Arthur’s face went a shade paler. He gazed somewhere around Merlin’s knees, but his eyes were unfocussed. And then suddenly they were hard. “Don’t do me any favors, _Merlin_. I can see your heart’s definitely not in it.”

He rose from the bed with lightning quickness and tore his sword belt off. Flung it on the mattress. “You have chores to see to. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day.”

“I… Arthur?”

“Get out of my room and go… do something you aren’t so against doing,” Arthur snapped. He strode forward, yanking his vest straight, mouth twisted and jaw set, until he nearly ran into Merlin. “Merlin— Good god, would you get out of my way?”

Arthur raised his hand and Merlin cringed instinctively until he realised that Arthur was only dragging it through his own hair. Short, sharp jerks. He glared at Merlin, lowering his arm in exasperation.

And then his hand crept up, just the littlest bit nearer to his mouth, and jerked back down, and Merlin suddenly got it.

“No, wait, wait. You think I— well, of course I said I didn’t— but that’s not it at all!”

Arthur’s face was a mask of embarrassed fury. “Talk sense! For god’s sake!”

“I’m trying!” Merlin cried. Arthur scowled at him.

“Move, Merlin.” It was dangerous, heated under the surface. Merlin tried to meet Arthur’s eyes and failed.

“Arthur, you don’t understand.” The words fell out of his mouth too fast. “It’s not that I— I mean, I do, you’re— But that’s not the point! This isn’t how I would have— They were so insistent, they begged me, you know how I am, I can’t just say no!”

“Yes, I can see how forced you feel.” And now Arthur not only looked humiliated and angry, he looked _sad_. It was too much for Merlin’s little heart.

“Don’t, I don’t feel forced!” He flailed his hands, trying to encompass what his voice couldn’t, what his thoughts weren’t letting through. “It’s just, not like this, I don’t want it like this. You’ll know, it’ll be bad, I’d never be able to— Yes, they asked, but I just can’t, because I wouldn’t know what to do!”

The last was a shout, bursting free of his chest. Merlin heaved air back into his lungs, feeling lightheaded and completely incoherent. Only Arthur was staring at him, the frown puckering his brow, working through all of the jumble, and suddenly his eyes widened and his lips parted. “You wouldn’t know…” Arthur’s mouth worked. “Merlin, are you—”

“Yes,” Merlin interrupted, miserable and lost, wondering how he managed to get himself into these messes. “Yes, I am. And you’d know.”

Arthur blinked slowly, as if he were still wrapping his thoughts around it all. Merlin wanted to kick himself. That wasn’t the problem, his lack of experience wasn’t even the issue, and here he was, rambling on about it like Arthur would care. Except maybe he would. Or maybe he’d just get started on hating Merlin now.

“I’m sure—” Arthur’s voice cracked. He turned his face away. Swallowed. “I’m sure if they’d known, they never would have asked you to do this.”

Despair ballooned. Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arm without thinking. “No… Arthur, don’t you see? It’s not about that. It’s about me, and not wanting it…” He sighed. “Not wanting it to go this way when it happened.”

Arthur looked him in the eye. His cheeks were livid and pink in the centres, his eyes darting over Merlin’s face. “When.”

Oh god. Merlin dropped his hand. “It’s not about not wanting it,” he whispered. _It’s about the circumstances being less than ideal, and wanting it too much anyway._

He couldn’t say it.

Arthur swallowed again; Merlin heard it in the silence of the room. Arthur’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “What is it about?”

Merlin made himself look up, and found Arthur wearing an expression he’d never seen before. He looked almost like a boy, the corners of his mouth twitching down, eyes a little too wide. Very blue. There was a tiny, distressed line between his brows.

He couldn’t stop himself, not when Arthur… Merlin clutched Arthur’s sleeve, fisting the material too tightly. His fingers strained and hurt, and he pulled himself in and touched his mouth to Arthur’s upper lip. The kiss landed awkwardly, beneath Arthur’s nose, and Merlin breathed out, startled, wavering.

He pressed his mouth to Arthur’s again, and Arthur took hold of him at last. Pushed him back.

“Merlin,” he muttered, “you—”

“I _do_.” Arthur fell silent. Merlin summoned enough breath to continue. “Arthur. I do. I just… don’t want to do it to keep you from your knights.”

“Then do it because you—” Arthur cut himself off and looked away. Merlin guided his eyes back with his hands on Arthur’s heated face, and kissed him again.

He wasn’t good at kissing, but Arthur made a sound and pulled him in, wound his arms around Merlin like a vise and nudged Merlin’s mouth open with a skill well honed. Merlin tried to keep up, his chest aching, knowing he wasn’t doing it right, but Arthur’s hand slid up his back to his nape and tucked him in close, fitted them together, plied his lips with fraught, urgent presses, until Merlin sagged, clinging with both hands to Arthur’s tunic, breathing when he could find the air.

The kiss broke; Arthur pressed closer, rubbing his face along the side of Merlin’s throat.

“Merlin, you…” Arthur’s mouth moved against his skin, forming the words in feathered touches. Merlin turned his face into Arthur’s hair and inhaled, stalled on the familiar scent. His heart thudded, too fast beneath his ribs. Arthur’s body tensed, and then he was hugging Merlin nearly off the ground, moving him, kissing his mouth as they went.

He knew where Arthur was heading, where they were heading. Merlin wasn’t sure how it was possible to want something so much and be afraid of it at the same time. This was a side of Arthur he hadn’t seen before, though he’d imagined it, but that had been without taste and sound and touch, and Merlin shuddered bodily, unable to handle everything assaulting his senses.

“Arthur,” he gasped at last, unable to keep silent.

Arthur stilled and drew back. His eyes tracked steadily over Merlin’s face.

Merlin swallowed. “I’m.” _I’m not good at this. Not in any way knowledgeable. Afraid I’ll disappoint you._

 _I’m not going anywhere._

Arthur nudged his nose against Merlin’s. “I know,” he said. His hand cradled Merlin’s face tenderly. “I know.”

**

Arthur’s fingers drifted through his hair. “Have to have a talk with those knights.” He sounded tired, a little gravelly.

Merlin opened his eyes and watched Arthur’s chest rise and fall just beyond his nose. “About?”

“About coercing impressionable manservants.” There was a chuckle on the end of it. Merlin couldn’t help but give in to it. The late afternoon sunlight streamed heavily across the blankets, forming shadows where their legs intertwined beneath them.

“Not impressionable,” Merlin mumbled, knocking Arthur in the side with a weak hand. Arthur caught it with a lazy swipe and drew it to his mouth, brushing his lips across the back.

“Surely I’ve impressed something within the last few hours,” Arthur murmured.

“Oh, surely.” Merlin left it unsaid that his main impression, over all the other ones, was that Arthur knew what it truly meant to be trusted. Knew it, treasured it. Earned it, with every passing second.

“Although,” Arthur said after a moment, “this is actually a much more enjoyable way to work off excess energy. Don’t even have to go outside.”

Merlin smacked him again. “You even dare go out now and—”

Arthur wrapped him in his arms, muffling his words. He pressed his lips to Merlin’s forehead. “As if I’d do that. Honestly, Merlin.”

Merlin latched onto Arthur’s waist, hooking his fingers underneath and splaying them against Arthur’s lower back. “You might. Entirely too restless lately for your own good. Or anyone else’s.”

Arthur yawned. “Yes, well. It’s up to you to rest up so you can see to my _restlessness_ again later. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the knights, now, would we.”

“No.” Merlin caught Arthur’s mouth in a sultry kiss. “No, indeed.”

~fin~


End file.
